


Beacon

by bloominglungs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ramsay Bolton - Freeform, Sansa-centric, Theon-centric, Theonsa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 18:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloominglungs/pseuds/bloominglungs
Summary: When Sansa loses her sight, she begs Theon for help.





	Beacon

The heavy rain battered the glass where her reflexion seemed blurred, distant as if she were but a ghost. Outside, the darkness consumed the land and she was uncertain whether it was supposed to be daytime or not. Trees convulsed in the frenzied wind and it looked like they would be ripped from the earth at any moment. This spectacle, however, didn’t frighten her; instead, it enticed Sansa, whose blue eyes were fixed in the chaos outside as her family gathered around some kind of board game. Their shouts, whines and laughter were muted by the sound of the rain and of her own thoughts.

“Good night,” she simply mumbled as she exited the room, walking briskly towards her chambers. They eyed her for a moment but carried on with their game. Her parents and siblings had grown accustomed to Sansa’s mood swings and how she was prone to get lost inside her own mind instead of participating in whatever family activity they tried to organise.

Sansa sat on her bed, staring at the flame of the candle, teary-eyed and lip quivering. The drumming of the rain castigated the window but even that thunderous sound had been drowned out by the violent screeching of her own anxieties. The faint knock on her door obviously escaped her grasp until the person who had knocked invited himself in and closed it behind his lean figure.

“Sansa.”

She didn’t reply but acknowledged his presence while attempting to wipe the tears from her face. He didn’t need to ask, he knew what was happening. She had been fearing this day for a long time, ever since she was a child.

“It’s gone, Theon, it’s all gone.” Her voice came out as a choked whimper, eyes bloodshot and wet.

The man took the liberty of approaching the bed, kneeling in front of the young woman, eyes fixed on her face, the candlelight creating interesting patterns of light and shadow on her soft features. Sansa’s eyes met his, despair and sorrow mirrored in her semblance. Theon’s eyes had been a delicate shade of teal, as deep as the ocean itself. Fitting, as he was Ironborn, he had the sea in his blood, salt in his veins and the storm running through his body. But all she saw in his eyes were hues of grey, his entire face discoloured, Theon and everything around him, all colourless and faded. She cried a little more, sliding down the bed and coming to her knees, embracing Theon in anguish, her long hair falling down his body as he held the woman tightly in his arms in a tender embrace.

She had been but a background character in his life through the years: the daughter of the man he served, with whom he was not supposed to converse. They had played together as children, always supervised by Eddard, her overzealous father. However, when she started growing taller and more feminine, having ideas of marrying a prince and being a queen, they began to grow apart. Theon had always imagined her father would have them married but she had started to notice prince Joffrey Baratheon, a lanky irritating brat who was far too hideous to marry a lovely young woman like Sansa. Theon hoped she wouldn’t marry such an arrogant excuse for a man as Joffrey: she deserved so much better, stronger, braver, whether that person was Theon or not.

Yet there she was, in his arms, crying and panting in deep agony, all her hopes and dreams shattered. It was the natural order of life: one day, the colour fades from one’s eyes and everything becomes dull and muted, much like life itself. It happens to everyone, sooner or later. Theon claimed it had happened to him many moons ago, when he was captured by the Starks and brought to Winterfell as their ward, separated from his family at the age of seven or eight. It took him a while to adjust and he had been as mournful as Sansa was for a long time, until he finally learned to accept that it’s inevitable and irreversible and the best way to deal with it, as with any disaster, is to simply accept it and move on instead of dwelling on it.

The storm lasted all night but the morning brought the sun with it, the light faint and shy but still a lot more pleasant than the rain and darkness of the previous day. Even with no colour vision, Sansa could feel slight warmth and shine and that was enough to make her feel slightly more peaceful. She tried not to think about Theon Greyjoy, the gruff ward, comforting her the night before. Sansa had always thought her father would marry her off to him. A tragedy, really. He was a few years older than her but he looked nothing like a young prince. His dirty blonde hair fell down his shoulders, always sloppy and often in front of his face. He had big calloused hands, so dexterous with a bow an arrow but so rough looking, from years of working in the fields, fishing and swordsmanship; nothing like the hands of a nobleman. The contrast between Theon and Joffrey was staggering in Sansa’s eyes: the latter was prim and proper, hair short and neatly cut; his hands soft and clean and his garments always pristine and regal. She was to marry him in King’s Landing and become a queen herself, the queen of the seven kingdoms. The raggedy Greyjoy boy was simply a hostage to the warden of the North, even if the Starks had shown him any kind of mercy and compassion, he was still but a hostage. His status as the heir of the Iron Islands didn’t change that, especially when his older sister Yara seemed so much more powerful and capable than him.

-

When Sansa returned home after everything she was put through, it barely felt like home anymore. After everything she had endured inside of those four walls, it was hard to close her eyes and not see his horrendous grin as his coarse hands inflicted so much pain to herself and everyone around them. But it was home, and Ramsay Bolton did not deserve the pleasure of ruining the sanctity of Winterfell for her, a Stark heir, a direwolf herself. Whatever Ramsay Bolton deserved, he got it, she gave it to him and the last thing she would do to him was to forget his existence, his name, his face. A long time had passed and many things had happened to Sansa, mostly painful and unbearable things she hadn’t had a chance to heal from, but she was trying. Through it all, the one person who had been there by her side, who had been just as broken, if not more than herself, was the last person she imagined she would ever find herself bonding with: Theon Greyjoy, now a man, humbled by the pain he endured at the hands of Ramsay, a shadow of the arrogant prick he had once been. She had found a strange solace in his presence, much quieter than it had been years before. Sansa remembered a time when he had been loud, obnoxious and overly confident in his looks and abilities. He was indeed a good archer and fighter, perhaps he had other talents Sansa was unaware of, but she couldn’t see what was so attractive about the way he looked, so jarring and unclean. However, that Theon was gone and he had been replaced first by Reek, broken and mangled and, finally, a renewed Theon Greyjoy, ego deflated but compassion and kindness magnified, his eyes gentle and his smile warm. He’s always had gorgeous eyes, an indescribable colour somewhere between blue, green and grey, long light eyelashes and pride mirrored in his orbs. It was the one thing Sansa had found alluring about him when she was younger. Now she found herself eyeing him as they ate their dinner together, stealing glances at his bruised face, unable to see the blonde of his hair and beard and the slight rose tint on his cheeks, as he slurped the hot soup. She had once found Theon raggedy, ugly even. Now she could look at him all night and imagine the teal of his eyes, the pink of his cheeks, the rose of his lips replacing the grey it had become.

They were alone, everyone else had retreated to their chambers to sleep, something both Theon and Sansa hadn’t done properly since Ramsay galloped into their lives. He was gone now, but the cuts and bruises were still there and they still stung. Sansa could have sworn that not only did her colours fade, but she had also become temporarily blind at the hands of that monster. Theon had been taking tiny sips of his drink for a while as Sansa stared off into the distance, lost in her own thoughts and occasionally lost in Theon’s bedraggled yet comforting features. She couldn’t stop thinking about the teal in his gaze and how she would give everything to see it again. She’s lost so much. She’s lost her father, her mother, two brothers, she’s lost her innocence and her bliss, she had lost her colours. It didn’t really bewilder Theon that, despite all odds, the one thing she hadn’t lost in the process was herself. He had always known her to be fierce, even when she was a starry-eyed little girl who dreamt of being a princess. She had always had a fire in her that not even the worst monster in Westeros could wipe out. Her flame had become composed, burning just at the right temperature, a warm ember that made Sansa balmy yet ruthless when she needed to be. Theon felt lucky she had warm-heartedness saved for him, after everything he had done to her family. He was invested in making it up to her, even if it cost him his life. He would have died for her and he would do it as many times as he needed to. Not for her forgiveness but out of pure and unadulterated selflessness and love for her. If Theon had learned anything from Sansa at all, it was to love selflessly.

-

What she asked of him was perilous, perhaps even mad. But he was willing to do anything for his beloved Sansa. She had saved him after all. That night when she held his face between her palms and made him repeat after her, “my name is Theon Greyjoy, last living son of Ballon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands” she truly saved his life. Gone were the days of the bloated Greyjoy boy who refused to feel love towards any woman, who refused to be tamed by the ropes of devotion. He was once a free spirit collecting knots in his bedpost, then Reek came along and he lost the pillar of his pride, his humanity, his dignity. He lost so much. But through it all, he gained the humility to admit to himself that he felt love towards someone, real altruistic love, the kind that takes confidence and self-assurance to wear proudly on his sleeve. Ramsay took so much from him but gave him the one thing he had lacked most of his life: modesty. Theon had found himself on a quest to give Lady Sansa anything her heart desired because he was still trying to redeem himself of past mistakes. And because he truly loved her. So he did not hesitate when she pleaded to him in confidence, her voice lower than a whisper, her lips so close to his ear, “please help me get my colours back.”

God, he didn’t even know how to conjure such a thing. He wasn’t well read, he wasn’t magical or knowledgeable, not about such subjects. His expertise was the bow and arrow, the sword and the fishing rod. He had once been a skilful lover too but he would rather not reminisce to those glorious days he could never get back. For Sansa, however, the lovely resilient Sansa, he would learn. He would even die if that meant she would be able to see the colours of the world again. She had lost so much already. She had the right to, at the very least, see the emerald of the grass beneath her feet during summer; the indigo sky splattered in golden and milky stars; the warm hues of the sunset lost in the horizon. If Theon had ever owed anything to anyone, he owed this to Sansa. Without her, he wouldn’t have survived the torture; without her, he wouldn’t have been reminded of his true self and gathered the strength to escape. He would give his own eyes for her to be able to see the loveliness of the world around her one more time.

When he was a young boy, Theon loved reading about the ocean, about pirates and ships and the deep sea. Then, in his teenage years, when he first bedded a whore in a brothel, he seemed to lose interest in mundane pleasures like reading or daydreaming. Instead, he spent most of his time drinking wine and bedding women he had no feelings for and whose names he didn’t even bother attempting to learn. Now, Theon had regained his love of reading, all for her. Despite his apparent levity, he was in no way unintelligent and he knew any readings on the topic at hand would not be readily available for anyone to look at. Most likely, any text regarding the medicine behind colour loss would be locked away in a tower somewhere, guarded by a fire-breathing three-headed hound. But he would fight any beasts for Sansa.

His mind wasn’t as sharp as it had once been, all the beating and starvation had made him forgetful, muddled-brained and confused. He would often lose his train of thought or simply be unable to process information, no matter how simple. There were others in the kingdom much more capable than him at this task but he didn’t dare tell anyone about his and Sansa’s plan. The idea that colours could be regained was not welcomed in Westeros, as it meant rebelling against the norm. Nobody knew why it happened or how to reverse it, but if it was God’s will that all adults had to see the world in black and grey, then it was no belief worth opposing. Asking for anyone’s help in this task would only flag Theon as a rebel, as trouble in the seven kingdoms, and draw a target on him and possibly on Sansa as well.

Every night he sneaked into Ned’s chambers when the moon was high in the sky, torch in hand, ignoring the ghosts that inhabited those chambers. He opened up the heavy chest under the bed where Lord and Lady Stark once slept and read a few pages, hoping to find answers, his eyes squinting and his lips mouthing the words he had trouble pronouncing. He tried his best to memorise any information he found relevant or at least the pictures that illustrated anything worth noting. If only he could just swap his eyes for her own, he wouldn’t hesitate. There had to be something, anything to fix her and give her a sip of happiness.

And every morning, with the sun barely up in the sky, he would knock on her door and she would urge him in quickly, fearing Arya or Bran or one of the maidens would see such a scene: Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, dishevelled and barely clothed letting a tousled and poorly rested Theon into her chambers, rushing him in as if they were guilty of something sinful. Which they were, in a sense.

She had caught herself thinking about what other sins Theon and her could be committing in her bedroom at such an ungodly hour, almost denuded and hair tossed everywhere. And whenever she caught her mind wandering that way, she would feel her cheeks heat up and would slap those thoughts out of her head, giggling like a teenager. After Ramsay, she thought she would never be touched again, or want to be touched again, or dream about being touched. Yet, in lonely hours, under the covers in the dark, she sometimes imagined Theon’s hands fondly caressing her hair, his lips ghosting over her skin. Always tenderly, always adoringly.

In her chambers, however, they did not undress or share moments of passion like in Sansa’s deepest dreams. Instead, he would tell her everything he had read the previous night and she would make notes of it and they would try to make sense of all the loose information and figure out how to get her colours back. And every morning he would look into her lovely blue eyes, as deep as the ocean that Theon had left behind and missed deeply. Her bright Auburn hair falling down her back and reaching her navel, looked so soft and glossy that he felt an urge to touch it.

Days came and went and their unspoken ritual carried on through the darker and colder winter nights. He would knock on her chamber door as the moon was still high up in the sky and she would have one more cover on her bed every week. She had hoped he would climb into bed with her and wrap his arms around her shivering form. It felt like they were getting closer to an answer with each night and each night of keeping his secret made him feel guiltier and guiltier. He could see the candle burning bright on her bedside table, orange and yellow flames casting a light on her face that emphasised the soft red hue of her cheeks and lips, while she read through her own notes attentively. She felt his gaze on her and lifted her eyes from the paper for just a moment to glance at him and she swore she could make out the teal of his eyes in the dim candlelight. Sansa shook her head lightly, thinking that maybe she was seeing things. Perhaps trying to read and write in such dim lighting was messing with her mind.

She looked over at his notes, his handwriting far messier than hers, but she had grown so accustomed to it that she read it with ease. He couldn’t help but notice how the light made her face all the more stunning. A pretty thing, she was. She had always been beautiful. He remembered her even as a child with her mesmerising red locks and lovely blue eyes in contrast with her pale skin, prancing around in flowy pastel-coloured dresses. Her younger sister had always been a bit of a tomboy, much smaller in height and with a much more childish figure; unlike Sansa, she hadn’t inherited the Tully red hair and blue eyes. Arya was much more interested in swords and bows and arrows. Sansa, on the other hand, had always been much more feminine and graceful. She enjoyed reading romances, braiding her hair and baking cakes. It amazed Theon how much Sansa had changed over the years. From the spoiled, annoying even, pretty girl who dreamt of sitting in the Iron Throne to a tall, elegant woman who had survived unimaginable torture and didn’t care for thrones or crowns. Theon’s childish dreams of marrying her felt distant and silly all those years later. She belonged to nobody and he wouldn’t have her belong to him, especially since he couldn’t even produce heirs. The only thing he could do for her now was to help her regain her vision and it somehow felt more dangerous than rescuing her from Ramsay’s filthy claws.

They both knew that what they were doing was not supposed to be done and nobody could know about it. And just when they thought they were being sneaky enough, a maid caught Theon leaving Sansa’s chambers late one night, his hair messy, sweat dripping from his face. It didn’t take long for the rumour to spread that they were involved, despite Theon’s condition. However, this rumour was still more acceptable than the truth so they went with it, going as far as to proclaim their relationship so that sleeping with each other was no longer seen as obscene and only a natural thing. This affair was certainly frowned upon, with Theon being a dickless traitor and Sansa the Lady of Winterfell. Even so, they would rather be seen as a broken couple than have people know of their plan.

They had come to the conclusion that there was a concoction that, when drunk, could restore colour vision temporarily. When in excess, however, it could cause permanent blindness or even death. Theon didn’t like this idea but Sansa was willing to risk it all to just see the world again as she had when she was a child: bright and vivid and full of hope. With each day, Theon’s own colour vision, the one he had never lost despite all odds, seemed to become more striking, the more he looked at her. He had become conflicted on whether he should tell her the truth or not, afraid of her reaction and ignorant of how he had managed the feat of never losing his colours, even after all the suffering thrust upon him.

“Theon, I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Lately, he had seen her mostly under that warm candlelight after dinner, when they hid in her chambers to do their research. He had almost forgotten what she looked like in the sunlight. Her skin seemed paler, her eyes brighter and deeper, her cheeks flushed and full of little freckles. She closed her eyes to bask in the sunlight she hadn’t seen in a while. Winters in the North were harsh, freezing with barely any natural light, so the arrival of yet another summer came as a much-needed blessing for Theon. Perhaps he would take Sansa to see the ocean, perhaps even teach her how to swim. Maybe by then, their plan would have worked and she would be able to see just how opulent the ocean truly is with its majestic mixture of blues and greens and the pearl white foam the waves leave behind. Theon didn’t want to think about a life without the sight of the vastness and blueness of the sea. That thought alone was enough to make him understand why Sansa would risk so much for something he had taken for granted. He truly didn’t understand how he had been so lucky and he had never really appreciated his gift until Sansa asked for his help in recovering her colours.

It seemed almost like a joke that they had worked so hard for months on end for such a small vial of liquid, barely enough for a sip. Sansa contemplated the fluid and, for a second, she swore it was a faint shade of lilac. Confused, her gaze shifted to Theon, who sat in front of her, blue eyes expectant. Blue, his eyes were blue. And green with a hint of grey and she could see all of these colours in them, albeit frail. She blinked as if she had an eyelash stuck inside her eyeball and Theon seemed confused.

Thinking long and hard about it, she would occasionally see a splash of colour here and there, mostly when she was with him, the yellow of his hair and the olive taint of his skin would sometimes feel real but she imagined it was her mind playing tricks on her due to fatigue and high expectations. She unscrewed the top of the bottle, way too big for such a tiny amount of potion and instinctively took a sniff of it before putting the bottle to her lips. It smelled flowery and sweet so she anticipated a nice taste. With her eyes shut, she took a breath, convincing herself this would work and she would not go blind or even die. She had worked too hard, lied too much and put herself through too many hazards for this. It had to work.

“Sansa…”

His low voice distracted her from the task at hand but she didn’t open her eyes even when his warm hand came into contact with her cheek, caressing it gently. She had to admit it gave her goosebumps how mellow his touch felt. Sansa didn’t say it out loud but she truly admired his resilience and how he had managed to stay so warm after everything. He always talked to her like she was the queen she had dreamed of being and looked at her like she was a mermaid, a beautiful creature of the ocean he loved so much. Perhaps he loved her and that thought made her heart beat a little bit faster and it made her cheeks feel warm and flustered. And, perhaps, she loved him too. She opened her eyes for a second and there he was: sunkissed skin, blonde hair and pink lips, his eyes closed as he took long drawn out breaths. She could lose herself in the sight of him, the man who had risked his life to help her not once, but three times; the man who had sought redemption and approval and had been forgiven long ago, his crimes but a passing memory she never even mentioned as to not bother him. He had gone with her to the World’s End for a handful of flowers just so she could have her vision restored and, even before she ingested the beverage, her eyes seemed healed already.

While all these thoughts raced through her mind, he closed the gap between them, surprising her with a chaste kiss. At first, it felt awkward and sudden, but she gave in to it very soon as his hand travelled down to her jaw, cupping it as to frame their kiss better. The rumours about Theon Greyjoy were true, he did know how to kiss a woman. The moment Sansa’s eyes closed, she saw an explosion of rainbow behind her eyelids, fireworks of all colours coming to life as her lips were captured in between his teeth, firmly yet tenderly. She wished she was better at this but he didn’t seem disappointed or taken aback by her lack of skills in any way. On the contrary, the low moans escaping his throat proved that he was definitely thrilled to finally give her the kind of kiss she had always deserved.

She was the first to break the kiss, mostly because she needed to breathe and, when she looked at him again, she dropped the vial in her hands in utter shock. She could see him right, all the colours as they should be, as vibrant as she remembered from her youth. Her mouth was agape with a hand covering it. Her first instinct was to look everywhere, at the trees and the grass, at the sky above them, at her own hands and her dress. It was all real, all the colours were there, all the subtle hues, the warmer and the colder shades, she could see it all the way she had as a child before life became too unbearable. She couldn’t believe it and she had to blink and shake her head multiple times, tears staining her cheeks as she processed what was happening to her. Theon picked up the flask and placed it on her palm, his fingers intertwining with her own before he caged her in his arms, in a tender hug. A curse was broken that day and Sansa could breathe again, knowing the world was right again.

-

The devastating news travelled all of Westeros rather quickly and, by the time it got to her, all Sansa could bring herself to do was cry. She locked herself in her chambers for a number of days, refusing to eat or see anyone. Her cheeks were hollow and her skin pale and clammy, all of her but a shadow of the Queen in the North. Her window remained closed for weeks on end and she allowed herself to be enveloped by darkness, a type of darkness much more sombre than anything she had previously experienced. After everything she’d been through, she didn’t think anything could devastate her again. The news of Theon’s sudden death, at sea of all places, turned Queen Sansa into a sobbing mess, a shell of what she used to be. More than ever, she felt defeated, desperate and purposeless in her life. Theon was her beacon of hope, the paint in her colourless world and she believed his love alone had cured her and given her colours back. She would rather not see at all than to see a world without him. She spent many weeks in complete isolation, in the dark of her chambers, not even lighting a candle and demanding nobody bothered her except once a day with a bowl of soup and some bread. Theon popped in her dreams to tell her she had to react, do something with her life, to tell her that he was always with her, in the waves of his beloved ocean.

It came as a shock to everyone when Lady Sansa emerged from her chambers, in the middle of the day, certainly not dressed for a public apparition, hair messy and tangled, bags under her eyes, looking pale and ghostly. It took her eyes a while to adjust to the light she hadn’t seen in such a long time, in her self-inflicted confinement. It was a cloudy day but the light of the sun was still blinding after so long in complete darkness. The maids all stopped their tasks, some dropping whatever they had in their hands, some gasping loudly. All these noises startling Sansa and making her eyes shut even tighter as she tried to deal with all the sounds and smells of the world outside her chamber of grief. She hadn’t known peace since the day she received the news of Theon Greyjoy’s mysterious disappearance at sea. Even trapped in that sombre room, peace was never an option for her. When she did manage to sleep, he haunted her dreams and when she was awake, his face was all she saw in the obscurity of her chambers. The mere act of appearing before her people that day was an act of fight. This was Sansa Stark, the Queen of the North, the woman who had survived it all and been moulded by tragedy. Theon, her beloved Theon, would never forgive her for letting the demons win. He didn’t almost die for her three times, only for Sansa to succumb to mourning.

All the noise died down, the blinding light became more bearable and she finally opened her eyes to the world for the first time since she received the news of her lover’s death. She was prepared for this calamity to take her colours for good and she accepted such a fate. After all, she had seen Theon’s beautiful teal eyes once more and he had shown her the vast ocean, that was enough. There was nothing else in the world Sansa wanted to see. But upon opening her eyes, she was surprised to have in front of her a glorious green tapestry, one Theon had brought for her from his travels, bright emerald with golden details and the Greyjoy Kraken embroidered in the centre. She ignored a maid’s attempts at covering her scantily-clad body and kept walking slowly towards the main door, pushing it with her entire body until it finally opened. The sunlight engulfed her fragile body, so bright she couldn’t even make out the shapes of the trees outside. Her eyes fixated on the sun above, the beaming yellow warmth embracing her so tight it almost felt a hug. A familiar voice echoed in the distance, calling her name.

“Lady Sansa.”

“Theon?”

That was the last thing she heard before collapsing, her body giving in to the self-inflicted starvation she had put it through.

-

The sand on her feet didn’t feel the same now as it once had when Theon took her to the beach. It felt colder, unpleasant against her skin. It had been raining. The sky tinted with so many colours it almost made her want to cry. There were hues of yellow, orange, red, purple and pink around the sun as it set against the sea as if it was being drowned. Sansa took a deep breath and sat down on the wet sand, not concerned about her garments. She closed her eyes and, for a moment, she could see his ship, the glorious Kraken on the flag, waving in the wind. And there he was, messy dirty blonde hair, olive skin glistening in the beautiful sunset light, his garments waving much like his flag. When she opened her eyes, he was gone again.

But the colours weren’t.


End file.
